


All Four of Us

by UltraSwagnus



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cock Worship, Dom/sub Undertones, Edging, Embarrassment, Eye Contact, Light Angst, Light Bondage, Masturbation, Multi, Non-Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Second-Hand Embarrassment, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Valve Fingering (Transformers), Voyeurism, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 13:55:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18639445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UltraSwagnus/pseuds/UltraSwagnus
Summary: Drift has three boyfriends and invites them all for a fun time! Things get better after everyone gets more comfortable with one another.Inspired by this tweet: https://twitter.com/Happy_Griff/status/1017525355366658049





	All Four of Us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HappyGriffTime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappyGriffTime/gifts).



_“I’m getting too damn old for this,”_ the medic thought to himself as he inserted two fingers into the microscope. The angle made it difficult, but Ratchet managed to work his way into the valve that was becoming more and more aroused by the minute.

Perceptor laid across Ratchet’s lap horizontally. Luckily for the both of them, the chair was large enough and constructed in such a way that the weight of both of their frames were able to be supported. The frontal platting of his torso had been removed by the medic before anything had started, where safety and precautions had been thoroughly discussed between the four of them.

Using his other hand, Ratchet grazed against internal systems and fuel lines. Perceptor nearly jumped out of his lap at the foreign touch, but gradually eased into it. The medic’s hands were gentle and delivered soft touches. Fingers tickled and teased their way across the scientist’s transformation cog as other fingers were now playing with a cherry red anterior node.

_“A-Ahha....!”_

Ratchet resisted the urge to smirk, but his efforts failed him. He couldn’t help it. He was a professional. Anatomy was deep programmed into him. He knew what was where and how it worked. Being in the medical class certainly had it perks.

Perceptor arched his back strut as a shiver echoed down it. His eyes remained fixated on the two mechs on the floor as the ambulance explored his inner mechanisms. He moaned softly and attempted to move his array closer to to medic’s right hand. Just a little closer, just a little more pressure. Just a little more…

“Relax and enjoy the show,” Ratchet spoke, keeping his touch at a denying distance.

***

“I’m surprised that you’ve,  _ahhhh_ , managed to last this long, Rodimus,” the swordsmech taunted. Normally, the captain would’ve made a snarky comment back, but his vocalizer seemed to malfunction when his spike was being ridden to Cybertron and back.

_“Mmmm, Drift…!”_

Most would consider the captain of the Lost Light a bot of compensation. The flashy colors, the flamboyant display of action. It was all compensation, surely. But for what, exactly? Regret of past actions? Sure. Low self esteem that has been cultivated in the shadow of Optimus Prime over the years? Understandable. Having a spike that was unable to pleasure his partner? _Never_.

Rodimus had what was called _that good dick_. He knew it. Drift _really_ knew it. The entire crew of the Lost Light unfortunately knew it due to an accidental intercom slip up. Ultra Magnus was on damage control for that one for weeks.

Drift slid off and back onto the hot rod with ease. The spectralist had no issue producing personal lubricant and things tended to get very messy very quickly when he was involved, to which none of his lovers had any qualms against. Coupled with Rodimus’ beautifully textured spike, his journey towards overload was approaching, and his movements matched accordingly.

Rodimus began to drool over the quickened pace of the tight, wet valve sliding over him.

“Oh, _god_... _mmmm_. Getting close already, buddy?” he teased.

Drift did his best to ignore the mech under him, but said mech was now lifting himself up and becoming the mech above him.

_“Let me help you out.”_

The captain’s air of cockiness was quickly overtaken by the sensation of deep penetrations.

 _“Rodimus!!_ _”_ the white mech yelled out.

“That’s my name, please wear it out.”

***

Ratchet nearly choked from the amount of smug pouring out of Rodimus’ aft port. He couldn’t blame him, though. He too would have a smirky grin and an air of arrogance if he made Drift turn into energon jelly on the floor. Moaning and writhing. Begging for more.

But that wasn’t who Ratchet was to Drift. Ratchet wasn’t his hot-lined sex machine, nor was he his side bot with weird kinks. Compared to the other two, Ratchet was just...Ratchet. The medic who took too long to fully pressurize on occasion. The stubborn old bot who wasn’t as nimble and spry like he use to be. Ratchet was tired. But Ratchet also loved Drift and loved seeing him happy and satisfied.

“Hey, Rodiums,” Perceptor finally chimed in. “Do you see the space between his valve and his spike cover? If you rub it, it’ll—”

“Percy!!” Drift shouted with an embarrassed look. “Don’t tell him thAA— _Ooohh!!”_

“You mean _here_?”

Perceptor chuckled, feeling quite pleased with himself over the sharing of such... _vital_ information. But his chuckling was cut short and turned into a sharp invent as the medic began doing what he had suggested.

“Don’t get smart, _Percy_ ,” the medic taunted. “It’s a more common erogenous zone than you think.”

The microscope squirmed at the new sensation. In his private moments he had touched that area before but he hadn’t experienced the same feeling that Ratchet was producing.

“I’ve been known to make mechs overload from just doing _this_ ,” he confessed, finally opening up and enjoying himself in the scene.

Perceptor thought he was going to melt on his lap. Ratchet had one hand rubbing what felt like a second anterior node and the other had made it’s way to his spark casing. The scientist sighed and moaned as the casing was caressed, it’s seams being traced over in the process.

“R-Ratchet,” he stammered, bringing his hands up to his exposed spark chamber. He gripped the medic’s hand, alerting the other to stop.

“Everything alright?” the ambulance asked, removing both of his hands off of the mech.

Perceptor adjusted himself to where he was now sitting on one of Ratchet’s thighs, perching himself as dignified as one could with your entire chest cavity exposed, baring it all for the world to see. After composing himself, he finally spoke.

“I think that’s enough foreplay.”

“Oh, is that it?” the medic laughed.

“Rodimus, where are the handcuffs?” the microscope asked aloud.

The captain almost didn’t hear him. His audio receptors were too busy being tuned in to Drift’s silent cries of “please, don’t stop” and other praising remarks that heated his ego.

“I’m a little busy right now,” the flame mech grunted, continuing rhythmic thrusts into his partner. Changing his angle just slightly, he managed to find a new spot inside of the swordsmech that had been neglected during the erotic escapade. After a few direct hits, Drift had reached his tipping point.

“RODIMUS _PRIME!!”_

Blue optics flashed against a wide grin of lust and pride. As Drift rode out his overload, the “prime” inserted himself fully and gripped the other bot's hips. Valve walls contracted and clenched around the member and tried to draw out it’s own overload.

 _“Oooooooh, Drift..”_ Rodimus sighed. He braced himself, using the other’s hips as support. He could feel the buildup of transfluid ready to burst and fill the valve to the brim, but the moment of rapture was halted right before it was about to start.

“Rodimus,” the impatient microscope said again. His voice was like a switch in his mind. A _turn off_ switch. The hot rod threw the speaker a frustrated look.

“I forgot them, ok? Can I _please_ continue?”

The scientist scoffed. “We’ve been planning this for weeks. How could you have forgotten them?”

“I think you’re forgetting who you’re talking to,” Ratchet replied.

“Do you even need them? I mean, really?” The red mech’s own impatience began to grow, but it was meaningless. His spike had already became half flaccid. Despite his frustration, he retracted himself. He knew if he didn’t go get them he’d never hear the end of it.

Drift sat up before Rodimus had a chance to leave, and placed his servos around the captain’s face, pulling him in for a deep kiss. _A tender thank you._

 _"Dammit_ ,” Rodimus thought to himself. Deep kisses turned into makeouts and makeouts turned into _round two_ s for Drift. The white mech slipped his glossa between rows of denta, knowing well aware of Rodimus’ easily broken resolve in the moments of passion. He smirked as the other leaned in and began to return the kiss.

“Drift.”

Drift sighed out of the kiss. “Go get them,” he told the captain.

“Oh, for the love of...! Fine! Fine. I’ll go get them.”

***

“I’ll be sure to bring this up with Rodimus at his earliest convenience.”

“At his earliest _convenience_? Magnus, for the sake of the ship he should be alerted immediately. This is our fuel supply we’re talking about.”

“I understand that, but given the projections we will be well off for at least another month.”

“Still, this matter is too important to put off. I’m going to comm him.”

“He’s not going to answer,” the second in command blurted out.

Megatron gave the armored mech a quizzical look. “And why not?”

Ultra Magnus took a moment before answering. When your captain, or rather, when one of the _co-captains_ tells you “I’m having an orgy this evening and I don’t want to be disturbed, also I need to borrow your handcuffs,” you don’t just... _tell other people_.

“He had prior arrangements for the evening, and—”

 _Blast_. He still had the handcuffs. Rodimus never came and got them. Oh, well. Perhaps he didn’t need them after all. Or maybe he figured something else out. Who knows?

“—he said he’d call when he became available again.”

Megatron huffed. Typical Rodimus. Full of selfish impulses and lack of personal responsibility. It ground the co-captains gears.

“Well, when he gets done with whatever has him so preoccupied—”

Suddenly, the door opened.

“Magnus! Oh, my god. Do you still have the—”

“Ah, Rodimus, so good of you to join us. Please, have a seat,” Megatron said almost coldly.

But Rodimus didn’t want to have a seat. He wanted the handcuffs and a swift exit. He looked at Magnus, who had the blankest expression he could muster. He then looked at Megatron, who had the most serious face _he_ could muster.

“I don’t have time, sorry.”

“Oh? And what is it that has taken so much of your time that you can’t be debriefed on a potential fuel shortage?”

“Fuel shortage?!” Rodimus exclaimed. He then looked back at Magnus who had remained silent this whole time, mostly because he was trying not to become fixated on the fluid stains on the flame mech’s thighs.

“Magnus can handle that, he’s a big bot.”

“Yes, but you’re captain, Rodimus. _Co-Captain.”_

“Then take care of it with him, _Co-Captain,_ ” he replied with an irritated tone.

The ex-Decepticon leader took a hand and dragged it down his gun-metal grey face. He should’ve expected as much from Rodimus. He doubted it, but part of him hoped that whatever it was that was demanding the other’s attention so badly was important.

And it was important. It was also pressurizing again, and becoming very uncomfortable inside his crotch plating. He couldn’t help it. He was still thinking about how good Drift felt and how delicious his overload would've been. And how Drift had shouted Rodimus _Prime_ , and—

_Snap!!_

Ultra Magnus became mortified. His contemplation on how he was going to give Rodimus the handcuffs while keeping Megatron unaware had been completely dismissed by a large, throbbing spike. He put a hand up to cover his face.

Rodimus posed with a pseudo confidence that only manifests when one’s spike springs forward and suspends blatantly in front of your fellow co-captain and second-in-command. He looked Megatron square in the optics with a commanding look.

“Magnus,” he began, breaking the most awkward of silences. “I need those handcuffs.”

***

“Ratchet! It happened again,” Rodimus exclaimed, "but I got the ‘cuffs!”

Rodimus swung a squared, metal loop around his finger as he entered the captain’s suite, but the swinging stopped as he processed the sight before him.

“Oh, come on! I thought we agreed that _I_ was gonna be the one getting his spike sucked,” he pouted. “And you could’ve waited for me..”

Ratchet turned his head lazily as if his frame was fused into the metal arm chair.

“You were, _uhghhh_ , taking too long. They were getting, _mmm_ ,  impatient.”

“I can see that. Clearly.”

And what he saw was Drift and Perceptor taking turns deep-throating the old medic. Was it a game? Were they trying to see who would get him to overload first? Rodimus didn’t care about the details. He just wanted to get off. Most importantly, he wanted to feel included. When Drift had initially invited him to join him and Ratchet, and eventually Perceptor as well, he was ecstatic. Being invited to a foursome was much more exciting and possibly more emotionally satisfying than self-servicing in your room. Alone. Sometimes crying while doing it. But only sometimes.

The red mech groped at his crotch plating as he watched, thinking about these things. Ratchet motioned towards him with a “come hither” motion. Rodimus obeyed, extending the squared restraints. Ratchet took them with one hand and with the other he signaled for the standing mech to turn around.

“This isn’t in the script,” Rodimus stated.

“We’re ad libbing,” Ratchet corrected, cuffing the captain with one had, as if he had done it before. Then the hand reached down towards Drift and Perceptor with middle and index digit extended. The pair began to lavish them with their glossa, making sure to cover every square inch, like hungry dogs.

“Put your leg up here, _captain_ ,” the medic instructed, gesturing with a head nod. This also wasn’t part of the script, but Rodimus didn’t mind. Hell, he loved being in handcuffs and told what to do. It gave him a personal ease given the mass amount of responsibility that bared down on his shoulders on a daily basis. The flame colored mech posed himself like William Riker from Star Trek, but kinkier.

“Drift, go help our captain open his valve cover.”

The swordsmech made a sound of affirmation and rose from his knees, leaving Perceptor alone with Rachet’s girthy spike. He positioned himself behind Rodimus and pressed himself into the handcuffed hands, which the “prisoner” began to grope. It was extremely warm to the touch, and there was no doubt a hard spike was in there, begging to be released and penetrate _something_.

 _“I’m saving that for Percy_ _,”_   was the secret whispered into Rodimus’ audio receptor. The secret keeper snaked one hand to Rodimus’ front and started to trace the delicate seams of the lower modesty plates, making the captain jerk. Drift’s other hand explored pointed, yellow spoilers.

 _“Aaahh!!”_   he shouted.  _Very sensitive_.

It didn’t take long before Drift was able to manually retract the panels that covered Rodimus’ valve. Ratchet let out a small chuckle.

“Had I known you’d be _this_ wet I wouldn’t have gotten them to lubricate my fingers.”

“Just touch me already,” Rodimus snapped.

 _“Be nice, Roddy,”_ Drift cooed, continuing to draw out gasps and gentle moans from the other as he fondled the pieces of yellow kibble, now with two hands instead of one.

“Perceptor,” Ratchet began, “show our _impatient_ friend here what you’re going to do to him.”

As soon as the sentence ended, Rodimus’ optics became cemented onto the microscope, who had been worshiping the medic’s large member with kisses from base to tip. He was going to overload. It was inevitable. This was all just too damn hot. And Ratchet hadn’t even started touching him yet. The scientist made direct eye contact with him as he licked the underside of Ratchet’s spike, making the large bot release husky groans. He smirked at Rodimus as he did it. He was _taunting_ him. _Teasing_ him. It was on purpose and Rodimus knew it.

“This was a s-set-up,” he stuttered.

Drift stopped touching the spoilers and moved down red-plated hips, making his way to the captain’s aft.

 _“ Just take me already, Drift_ _,”_   he thought to himself.

“Consider this as punishment for forgetting your bonds,” he said, giving the tight little aft a squeeze.

Before he could even made a snide remark, the medic took his free hand and began to graze the puffy folds and glowing lines of the captain’s valve, lightly touching it. Rodimus pulled his lower lip mesh into his mouth and sucked on it. He hated being teased. He also loved it. His cooling fans switched on as he watched Perceptor once again deep throat Ratchet. The medic placed his other hand on the back of the microscope’s helm, and gave encouraging strokes with his thumb against it. Rodimus whined.

Drift knew how much of a tease his primary partner could be, given those delicate medic hands. He’d been where Rodimus was on more than one occasion.

 _“Please, be patient, Roddy. It’s worth it,”_ he assured, kissing all over his favorite, yellow spoilers.

A shiver went up the captain’s back strut as the spectralist planted kisses all over the protruding kibble, eventually gliding over to the edges where he began to nibble, suck, and lick, just how _Roddy_ liked it.

 _“Aa-aaaaah!!”_   Rodimus yelped. It was embarrassingly high pitched, and it made Perceptor laugh on Ratchet’s spike. The vibrations felt good, and the member throbbed in response. Ratchet could feel his own overload building. But he wasn’t going to do it before Rodimus. He was too considerate. Considerate enough to decide that he had given the younger mech a thorough teasing. The ambulance took his index and thumb and pinched at the ever glowing node in front of him.

“Oh, _fuck!!!”_ Rodimus cursed. Fluid he had desperately been holding in leaked out of him in solid streams. Ratchet kept pinching as the valve squirted in front of him. Damn, he loved it when mechs got messy. And so did Perceptor, who was rubbing his own node as he watched, intake full of spike. The captain trembled as the seated mech showed his anterior node no mercy, pinching it, rubbing it, scratching gently on its surface.

 _“I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum...!_ _”_ Rodimus chanted to himself. The dripping valved ached for something inside of it. He whined again.

 _“Sweetspark,”_ Drift singsonged to the medic. “May I finger Rodimus?”

“Go ahead,” was the answer.

Rodimus having his legs propped up on the arm of the chair gave Drift easy access to reach under and between the other’s thighs. He rubbed two digits against the hot, puffy lips of Rodimus’ valve and spread them apart, allowing Ratchet and Perceptor to have a full view of the hungry port.

“C'mon, Drift, _please..!”_

The white mech hummed as he inserted the two fingers into the now begging mech and prodded around until he found what he was looking for. Inside of the captain was a cluster of small nodes that always made Rodimus weak. As the spot became more and more stimulated, the captain moaned, mouth agape and optics hazy.

The microscope fingered himself in unison with Drift, watching the flame colored mech drool in ecstasy. Ratchet has stopped touching Rodimus and leaned his helm back against the chair, letting out a deep sigh in the process. He listened intently to the sounds of Rodimus as his spike was being massaged with glossa strokes from inside of Perceptor’s intake. The medic grunted, spike throbbing, grip tightening. He wanted to hold out until after Rodimus had finished, but Perceptor wasn’t allowing that.

He had reached his limit.

Taking both hands now, he pulled the helm down against the entirety of his length. This caught Perceptor off guard, but he quickly adjusted to the gentle force. Ratchet spilled into his throat, his frame quaking during the overload. His grip weakened and his hands slumped onto his thighs as every drop of his fluid was gulped down.

 _“Come for me, Roddy,"_  Drift whispered with hot breath.

Rodimus shouted as he violently came on Drift's gentle fingers, coating them with his transfluid. Drift milked the captain for all he was worth, heightening his pleasure by caressing those delicate spoilers. Rodimus yanked at his bonds. He wanted so desperately to touch himself while Drift made him overload over and over again. He cried out as he attempted to ride the digits, but the position he was in forbade it. He had no choice but surrender himself to Drift’s touch, and he wouldn’t have had it any other way.

***

Perceptor laid across Ratchet’s lap as he had earlier, his body and mind properly warmed up for his own climax. Ratchet was adjusting the cuffs around their new wearer’s wrists, but it was taking longer than it normally would have.

“You pulled on them too hard. The locking mechanism isn’t working right,” the medic said, looking at Rodimus. Rodimus moved a towel under his pede to wipe up the remaining fluid that had fallen from him.

“Oh, great. Can’t wait to explain _that_ to Magnus,” he said with a tone of dreadful sarcasm. He kicked the soiled towel to the side and craned Perceptor’s helm back over the arm of the chair. He rubbed the soft, metal pads of his thumbs over mesh of Perceptor’s lips, coaxing the orifice open. The microscope opened and flicked his glossa on the captain’s thumb plates. Rodimus bit his lip as he watched, his spike pressurizing again inside of his array. His thoughts of Perceptor’s mouth on his mighty rod were interrupted by the sound of the handcuff’s locking mechanism activating.

 _“Finally,”_ Perceptor sighed.

“Impatient much?” Rodimus teased.

The wrecker smirked up at him, and the other returned the expression, adding to the tension between them.

“If you two are done flirting, I’d like to begin.” Ratchet said hoarsely.

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Rodimus replied, unsheathing his hard spike into his hand and resting the underside of the head on the lips below. Perceptor opened wide enough to allow the member entry. It was warm, and wet, and the captain melted into it.

“Ohh, _y-yeah…_ ♥”

He pulled himself in and out gently, and moaned as Perceptor’s glossa licked along the nodes that decorated the sides of the spike. He moaned along with him, sending vibrations up the shaft. A decent amount of pre-fluid dribbled out as the result, and it made him want to give the mech a hardy throat-frag. But given the angle, he didn’t want to cause any possible damage, so Rodimus began to edge himself.

On the opposite side of the armchair knelt Drift, face flush against a very wet valve. He made quick work of it with his glossa, brushing firm strokes across the delicate mesh and painting a picture of his affections. The swordmech deepend the strokes into the opening of the mechanism, causing the microscope’s thighs to tremble. The moaning increased from the recipient, which Rodimus greatly appreciated.

“Drift, whatever you’re doing, _uughh_ , don’t stop..”

 _“Oh, Rodimus. I’m not_ _,”_ he thought to himself, drawing circles on the bright anterior node that begged for more attention. Perceptor would have loved to have pressed dents into the white mech’s helm, but the handcuffs around his wrists and the strength of ratchet holding them down made that an impossibility.

Ratchet held down the pair of servos with his right, and using his left he went back to exploring Perceptor’s inner workings. Everything was as neatly aligned and structured as he remembered it. The frame on his lap jerked as he dragged a single digit between some fuel lines that ran towards his tank. The sensation made the wrecker arch his back stuck, but his movements were limited in his current position. Perceptor laid there, completely open and available to the wills of Rodimus, Drift, and Ratchet.

The medic watched as the spark inside of the casing began to flare and shine. Instinctively, he took his free hand and cupped the round casing. It was warm, and he could feel the microscope’s soul dance frantically inside of it. Ratchet began to rub the exterior metal plating and worked his way up it. When he finally got to the rim, he traced the sensitive edging of its circumference in several rounds. His touch was tender and soft, and it felt oh-so good to the sniper. So good, that it triggered his first overload.

Perceptor yelled as he sank into the overload, but the yells of pleasure were muffled from the persistent thrusting of Rodimus’ spike. The overload stretched the intake wider to allow his vocalizations a means of escape, but all it did was give the spike more room for deeper insertion, which the captain took advantage of in the moment.

Perceptor felt his frame go limp as the internal overload subsided, and then second one erupted from his anterior node. Drift had been sucking on it with such devotion and care, treating it like the precious jewel that it was to him. As the microscope came, he whined and moaned onto the captains member, sending more vibrations to the receptive nodes that decorated it.

“Sh-shit..!! _Augh, Perceptor..!!”_

Rodimus gripped the sides of the black helm firmly and pushed himself as far into the intake as he could without causing any harm. His rod throbbed as it dumped its load down into the back of Perceptor’s throat. He threw his head back and shouted into the atmosphere as the release took him. Ratchet watched as the fluid traveled down contracting intake-fuel lines that led to his tank. It wasn’t his cup of tea when it came to kinks, but he couldn’t help but have some feelings of fascination from a medical standpoint.

Rodimus pulled out his now flaccid spike and retracted it back into his array, then knelt down to nuzzle his cheekplates against the other’s. Perceptor craned his neck and planted kisses along the captain’s jawline. Rodimus purred. Damn, he loved affection.

Drift rose from his kneeplates, licking off excess fluid from his lips. It was now his turn, and without hesitation he unsheathed his hardened length. He rubbed the underside of it against the dripping slit as an alert to Perceptor, who attempted to rub himself more firmly into the contact. Drift hummed in contentment as he slid into the microscope, both gasping in unison at their oneness.

Ratchet let go of the handcuffs to crandle Drift’s chin, pulling him into a deep kiss. The spectralist opened his mouth and received a glossa from Ratchet, who began to thoroughly examine his intake. Losing himself in the moment, Ratchet removed his other hand from inside of Perceptor’s chest cavity and cupped Drift’s face. The white mech moaned into the medic’s mouth as he made love to Perceptor.

“Does he feel good?” Ratchet asked, softly rubbing his nose against Drift’s.

 _“Mmm, yes.._ ♥"

***

“Rodimus,” Perceptor whispered between kisses and groans.

“Yeah, Percy?”

The wrecker paused for a moment. Rodimus hadn't called him ‘ _Percy_ ’ before. Perhaps this was the beginning of something. Between the two of them? Between the _four_ of them?

“Will you...touch my spark?”

“Uhh, sure.”

Rodimus stood up and peered over Perceptor’s frame. He knew basic anatomy. He knew what sparks looked like and their casings and chambers and all that stuff. He just, wasn’t sure about jamming his hand inside. Spark fisting? Was that a thing? Was it _safe_? He didn’t know. He didn’t know what to do or how to do it, but he sure as hell knew he didn’t want to fuck it up. He reached his hand over the open spark chamber and, with a shaky hand, reached closer towards it. But Rodimus’ hand was grabbed by Ratchet, who had ceased his kissing and caressing with Drift to give him time to focus on Percy’s valve.

_“Let me show you.”_

Ratchet held his hand and guided it towards the open spark. The medic placed the other’s digit tips on the rim, just as he himself had done earlier. Perceptor whimpered at the touch, and bit his lip as Rodimus circled the rim with Ratchet’s help. Every so often, Ratchet would dip their fingertips into the chamber, letting the spark flutter against them. Rodimus reached for Ratchet’s other hand, which was freely given to him. He squeezed the medic’s hand. He needed this, He needed guidance. He needed affection. He needed to feel safe. And Ratchet was giving him _all of that._

Ratchet let go of his hand after he felt confident that he could do it on his own. The captain pouted. He didn’t want the touching to stop. Luckily for him, the medic was able to read him like a datapad. The hand he used to guide now rested on the side of Rodimus’ face. Rodimus involuntarily leaned into it.

“Kiss me?” Rodimus whispered. Ratchet smiled.

“C’mere then.”

Rodimus leaned forward, and the ambulance moved his hand to the back of the other’s helm, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss. Had Perceptor not been splayed across his lap, Rodimus would’ve crawled into it.

The sounds of kissing melded together with the increasing frequencies of Drift and Perceptor’s _oooh_ ’s and _aaah_ ’s. Drift watched as they kissed, thrusting more quickly into Perceptor as a response. The white mech circled the microscope’s anterior node with his thumb, encouraging an overload to come forth. The recipient shuddered as he was pushed over the edge by the new sensation. Signals raced through his circuits with the different stimulants combining into one unified wave of pleasure. Perceptor cried out, his spark crackling onto Rodimus’ hand. The inner rings of valve mesh clamped around Drift’s spike and contracted in rhythmic pulls. Drift gasped as his own overload bursted out of him, filling the valve chamber with his transfluid.

“Oh, _Percy!!_ ♥”

***

After unlocking the handcuffs, Ratchet began to carefully reattached the front panel of Perceptor’s chest plate as the other two mechs cleaned themselves off in the private washroom of the captain’s suite. The microscope, still in a blissed-out state of mind, sighed with goo-goo optics at the medic. Ratchet looked down at Perceptor’s expression and gave a small smile.

“What is it?” he asked.

Perceptor took one of Ratchet’s busy hands and curled the knuckle joints towards his lips, planting a kiss on them.

“Thank you.”

“...don’t mention it,—”

The smiled grew bigger, and Ratchet withdrew his hand and continued to work.

“ _—_ _Percy_.”

***

Rodimus clung onto Drift, still covered in solvent-induced suds.

“Roddy, let me finish. We’re almost done.”

“Cuddle. Now.”

“ _After_ Perceptor and Ratchet. Then we can do it together.—”

It had taken a while. A while of long talks, exchanges of feelings and attachment, releasing fears and concerns, and growing together. But at long last, the ones who Drift had given his spark to, have in turn began to give theirs to each other.

“ _—All four of us._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> aaaaaaaah!!! this became a LOT longer than i had originally intended. sorry for the wait, griff!! i hope you liked it ;u;


End file.
